24. Henry
Henry
The intel from Bodie is not great. But I can handle it. I’ve come through worse—but the big difference today is that Cole, Connor, and I don’t have backup. It’s just the three of us, no Guard squad waiting in reserve, locked and loaded to move should we require them.
And there’s the small problem of Vince too…
The sonofabitch is sprawled on the pier’s deck, his smug face slack, blood trickling from his split lip where my fist connected.
“Lights out,” I say, balling my fist. “When you wake up, the cops will be all over your ass.”
“Fuck you!” Vince spits.
But one solid right hook, and he’s out cold, his body like a felled tree and his breathing slow.
The boat rocks beneath us, waves slamming the pilings, the air thick with cordite and the crackle of gunfire from the pier. My arm stings where his blade grazed me, but it’s nothing—a scratch compared to the fire in my gut to end this.
I grab Vince’s limp body, dragging him across the splintered wood to a timber store tucked under the pier’s edge. With a grunt, I roll him beneath the stacked planks, his body hidden in the shadows.
Vince can keep until this is done.
My focus shifts to Cole and Connor, pinned down by cartel goons, and the new SUV Bodie warned about, barreling toward us with more trouble.
“Vince’s down,” I growl into the comms, my voice steady despite the chaos. “Moving to you, Cole. Status?”
“Pinned, but holding,” Cole rumbles, his rifle barking as another goon drops. “Two left, dug in behind the crates. Connor’s got ‘em rattled.”
“Keep them busy,” I say, crouching low as I hustle along the pier’s edge.
Bullets zip past, splintering wood, but I weave through the shadows, my training kicking in— move fast, stay low, be the ghost they never see .
Bodie’s voice echoes in my head, his shaky warning about the SUV, his Little side brave as hell relaying intel like he’s a pro.
My heart swells, but I shove this down. It isn’t the time for romance.
This is the moment for cold, hard action.
My boy is safe at the checkpoint, waiting for me, and I’ll burn this pier to ash before I let anyone touch him.
I reach Cole’s position, sliding behind a rusted shipping crate.
He’s a wall of muscle, his rifle trained on the goons’ cover, his dark eyes calm but lethal.
Connor’s sniper fire cracks from the warehouse roof, keeping the cartel pinned.
The two remaining men are pros, using the crates for cover, their submachine guns spitting bursts that chew the air.
But they’re rattled, sloppy, and we’re Guards—we eat chaos for breakfast.
“Pincer move,” I say, low and sharp, locking eyes with Cole. He nods, reading my play. “I’ll flank left, draw their fire. You push right. Connor, drop the one on the furthest crate when he pops.”
“Copy,” Connor says, his voice cold steel through the comms. “His ass is mine.”
Cole shifts, ready to move, and I break left, sprinting across open ground, my boots pounding the gravel. A goon spots me, his MP5 swinging, but I dive behind a piling, rounds shredding the wood above my head.
Cole uses the distraction, rolling right, his rifle barking.
One cartel thug screams, clutching his chest, collapsing in a heap. Connor’s shot follows, a clean thwip , and the second man’s head snaps back, his body crumpling.
The pier falls quiet, save for the waves and my own pulse hammering in my ears.
“Clear,” Cole says, standing, his rifle still up, scanning for threats.
“Clear,” Connor confirms, his scope sweeping the lot.
I exhale, my gun lowering, but my eyes flick to the road.
Bodie’s warning burns—more cartel men, inbound.
“SUV’s coming,” I say, moving to Cole’s side, checking my mag. Half-full, enough for what’s next. “We hit them from the jump, no chances taken. Pincer again—Connor, high ground, Cole, you’re with me.”
Cole grunts approval, slinging his rifle and drawing his sidearm, a Desert Eagle that could punch through steel.
We take position behind a stack of barrels, the pier’s entrance in our sights. Connor’s voice crackles through…
“Visual on the SUV, one klick out, moving fast. Four tangos inside, armed heavy.”
“Pre-fire early, so they don’t think they’re walking into a trap. We need them to think that we’re still shooting it out with the others. Then light ‘them up when they enter through the gate,” I order, my voice cold, all Night Ops focus. “No survivors.”
The SUV’s growl grows louder, its blacked-out frame tearing down the coastal road, no headlights, a predator in the night. My mind flashes to Bodie, curled up in Shred with Poot and Billy, his Little side trusting me to come back.
I grip my gun tighter, my Daddy side roaring to protect him, to end this threat for good. We open fire, creating the illusion that there are still cartel men alive. The SUV screeches into the lot, skidding to a stop twenty yards out, doors flying open.
“Now!” I bark, breaking cover, gun blazing.
Cole’s Desert Eagle booms beside me, rounds punching through the SUV’s frame. Connor’s sniper fire joins, a relentless thwip-thwip , shattering the windshield, dropping the driver before he can bail.
The other three men try to spill out, weapons up, but we’re too fast. My shots catch one in the chest, Cole’s blow another’s arm clean off, and Connor’s rifle finishes the last, a headshot that paints the SUV’s door red.
The vehicle’s a smoking wreck, bodies slumped, the night reclaiming its quiet.
“Clear,” Connor says again, his voice steady.
“Damn fine work,” Cole mutters, reloading, a rare grin cracking his face.
I nod, my chest heaving, but there’s no time to celebrate…
Vince’s still under that timber store, and the cops need to be in play before he slips away. I hustle back to the pier’s edge, sliding under the planks where I stashed him.
The asshole is stirring, groaning, his eyes fluttering open, blood crusting his jaw.
“You’re… screwed, Guard,” Vince mumbles, his voice slurred, defiant even now.
“Wrong,” I growl, grabbing his wrists, zip-tying them tight.
I haul him out, dragging him to a nearby pole, and bind him to it with more ties, his body sagging.
Vince’s not going anywhere .
I pull a burner phone from my tac vest, dialing the local police’s anonymous tip line.
“Got a suspect tied up at the pier,” I say, my voice low, disguised. “Vince Gray, wanted for smuggling, money laundering, assault, cartel ties, harassment. Evidence in his SUV. Move fast.”
I hang up, tossing the burner into the waves, and step back, watching Vince slump, his head lolling.
Sirens wail in the distance, faint but closing, the cops already on their way.
Vince’s done—his cartel dreams, his threats to Bodie, all of it.
The feds will bury him, and if the cartel doesn’t get him in prison, he’ll rot for life. But my job’s not over. Bodie’s waiting, and I’m not whole until he’s in my arms.
“Time to ghost,” I say into the comms, my voice rough with exhaustion. My arm’s throbbing now, blood soaking my sleeve, and every muscle screams from the fight. “Cole, Connor, head out. Debrief tomorrow.”
“Copy,” Cole says, already moving, his frame vanishing into the shadows toward his SUV. “Stay sharp, brother.”
“On my way,” Connor adds, his voice fading as he descends from the roof, heading for his own exit.
I scan the pier one last time, the carnage a testament to our work—bodies scattered, the SUV a wreck, Vince tied like a gift for the cops.
The sirens grow louder, red and blue lights flickering on the horizon.
Time to move.
I spot one of the cartel’s SUVs, undamaged from the first wave, keys still in the ignition. It’ll do. I slide in, fire it up, and peel out as the first cop cars hit the lot on the opposite side.
I’m clear.
The coastal road stretches dark ahead, the ocean a restless shadow to my left. My body’s screaming—pain in my arm, bruises blooming where I took hits—but my mind’s on Bodie…
His voice on the radio, small but brave, warning me about the SUV. My Little One, holding it together, trusting his Daddy.
I picture Bodie in Shred, curled up with his stuffies, his romper probably on, waiting for me. My chest tightens, a mix of pride and need. He’s changed me, this surfer boy with his fire and his sweet, sassy Little side… and I’m not letting him go.
The checkpoint’s close, a dirt pull-off hidden by dunes.
I ease off the gas, turning onto the sandy track, the SUV’s shocks groaning. Shred’s there, tucked under the dune’s shadow, exactly where he should be.
Relief hits like a wave, but I stay sharp, parking a safe distance and cutting the engine.
My gun is in hand as I step out, scanning for threats.
The night’s quiet, just waves and the faint wail of sirens far behind.
No cartel, no tails. He’s safe.
I approach Shred, my boots crunching softly, and tap the rear door, my voice low.
“Bodie, it’s Daddy. Open up, Little One.”
The door creaks open, and there he is, my boy, curled in his blanket nest, Poot and Billy clutched tight.
Bodie’s blue eyes are wide, tear-streaked, but they light up when he sees me, his Little side bursting through.
“Daddy!” Bodie cries, scrambling out, throwing himself into my arms, tears of joy and relief streaming down his face.
I catch him, wincing as my injured arm protests, but I don’t care. He’s warm, soft, his romper brushing my skin, and I hold him close, my Daddy side complete.
“I’m here, sweet boy,” I murmur, kissing his forehead, his hair. “You were so brave. You were so good for Daddy.”
“You’re hurt!” Bodie gasps, pulling back, his hands hovering over my bloodied sleeve, his Little side worried but fierce. “Daddy, we gotta fix you!”
“It’s nothing,” I say, brushing it off, though the pain’s sharp now, adrenaline fading. “Just a scratch. Vince’s done , Bodie. Tied up, cops on their way. He’s not hurting you again. Not ever.”
His eyes well up, relief and joy mixing, and he buries his face in my chest, clutching Poot.
“You kept your promise,” Bodie whispers, his voice small, all Little and trusting.
“And I always will,” I say, my voice rough with emotion. I ease him back into Shred, climbing in front, the van’s familiar chaos—blankets, pillows, his sketchpad—wrapping us in safety.
I’m exhausted, pain throbbing, but he’s here, my Little One, and that’s enough.
“Ready to go home, Little One?” I ask, ruffling his hair, my voice soft.
“Home with you, Daddy,” he says, smiling, his Little side glowing. “That’s the only place I ever want to be…”
I smile, wince in pain, and start the engine.
But now that Bodie is free from Vince, a part of me can’t help but wonder how he’ll feel once the adrenalin of the night dies down…